


Flame

by disturbedbydesign



Category: The Town (2010)
Genre: Consensual Violence, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Gunplay, Pyromania, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-07
Updated: 2013-03-07
Packaged: 2017-12-04 12:52:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/710980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disturbedbydesign/pseuds/disturbedbydesign
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jem meets his match in Angie, the only person in Charlestown more psychotic than he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flame

**Author's Note:**

  * For [badcircuit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/badcircuit/gifts).



Angie made her way to the bar that night with one thing on her mind. She was already flying off some good shit she copped a few nights earlier – the same stuff she’d used to tempt him into the bathroom with her, the same stuff she’d tapped out onto her tits and shoved in Jem’s face before he fucked her quick and dirty against the sink. She had been drunk, but not as drunk as he was. He almost instantly regretted it, but she didn’t. She’d wanted Jem Coughlin balls deep inside her for as long as she could remember, and now that she’d had a taste, she wanted more. She _needed_ it, because when Angie’s twisted mind got fixed on something, nothing else mattered: no consequence was too severe, no method too outlandish.

She was wearing the skimpiest top and the shortest skirt she had. She knew her body was bangin’, and she knew that’s how he liked it. The way he’d fucked her with one hand full of tit and the other full of ass had told her as much, but even before that she’d caught him looking. She wanted to feel more than his eyes on her this night. She wanted him to want her as badly as she wanted him – to give her more than five minutes in a bar bathroom so she could show him she could really rock his world. She thought if she could fuck him good enough, she’d get her hooks in him. He was already like a drug to her, had been for years, and in her fucked up head she thought maybe the two of them together would be perfect: the very definition of two wrongs making a right. Because Angie was batshit crazy and she knew it, and Jem – well, Jem was Jem.

She stopped briefly at the door of the Tap, taking a minute to roll her eyes at the tight-ass tunie cunts fingering their pearls and playing hard to get, before descending the rubber stairs down to the basement. That’s where her kind of action was, and that’s where he would be, because it was Friday night and that’s just how things were in Charlestown. So it had always been, and so it always would be until they were all in the ground. When she rounded the corner the stench of stale beer and decades-old piss flooded her senses. The bitches upstairs would have covered their noses, maybe even gagged, but to Angie it was a comforting smell, familiar. She wouldn’t have it any other way.

Dez was at the jukebox, no doubt cuing up some U2, and Krista was all over him like white on rice. And that was a good thing, since Krista got some sort of sick pleasure out of cockblocking any girl that tried to get near her brother. You’d think a used-up skank like her would understand a girl trying to get a piece on a Friday night, but for whatever reason, there wasn’t a girl in town who she deemed good enough to lay hands on her brother. It would have made sense if she was after Duggy, but Angie had no interest in him. It was Jem. It had always been Jem.

She scanned the low-ceilinged room although she didn’t have to. She knew where he’d be: up at the bar with his crew, a High Life in hand. She went straight for him. No point in playing games. The dirty mirror behind the bar was tilted just so and it stole the element of surprise from her as she approached. She made eye contact with him in the mirror but he didn’t turn around. He looked pissed but it didn’t faze her. Duggy and Gloansy were kind enough to greet her but Jem stayed silent. Angie just hoisted herself up onto the bar stool beside him, letting her skirt ride up and her tits bounce as she settled in. She turned to him.

“Buy a girl a drink?”

Jem sat still, hunched over his beer. He didn’t look at her when he spoke.

“We’re in the middle of something, Ang.” He didn’t try to hide the displeasure in his voice. “Go shove your tits in someone else’s face, will you?”

Angie leaned in and spoke deep and throaty in his ear.

“You seemed to like it the other night.”

She let her hand wander to his thigh, and his hard muscle tightened beneath the thin fabric of his track pants when she touched him. Jem grabbed her wrist hard and swung around to face her. His massive hands encircled her wrist like a steel trap and she bit her lip to keep from moaning.

“I said fuck off, Ang. I got business.”

He let go of her and turned around to face Duggy. Jem had his back to her and he was wearing his signature tank, so old and threadbare she could make out every muscle underneath it. She couldn’t help herself. She ran her hands over the fabric from the middle of his back up and across his bare shoulders, all rock hard and tatted up, and he jolted forward like she was made of fire. He swung around with his jaw clenched, and leaned in.

“I swear to Christ, Angie, if you don’t get the fuck away from me right now…”

“You’ll what, Jem? What the fuck you gonna do if I don’t? I’m just trying to get a drink.”

Jem picked up the longneck in front of Duggy – the one Jem always bought for him, the one Duggy wouldn’t drink – and slammed it down on the bar next to her. Foam shot out of the top and she could feel it splash on her bare shoulder.

“There’s your fuckin’ drink. Now go.”

She took it with a wicked smile. “Such a gentleman,” she said, and she wandered off in the direction of the bathroom.

Angie liked him angry; she liked the way the muscles in his arms tensed up and his thick veins bulged with hot angry blood pumping through them. She liked to get a rise out of him and watch the pressure build until he broke. She’d break him that night. She was sure of it.

She made her way into the dirty bathroom – the same room he’d fucked her senseless in just a few nights before – and pulled the vial out of her purse. She took a couple key bumps to the face and gummed the residue until she was good and cranked up. The cold beer felt good as it washed over the dull tingle in her mouth and mixed with the slow chemmy drip down her throat. She took the beer down to its dregs and smiled at herself in the mirror, touching up her makeup a bit. Her beer now empty, she had an excuse to head back to the bar. The coke was fueling a deep desire for whiskey. She’d always thought beer was for pussies anyway.

When Angie emerged from the bathroom she saw that Jem was alone. Who the fuck knew where Duggy had run off to and Gloansy was off in the corner with his hands on Joanie’s ass. She scanned the area for Krista, but she was still latched onto Dez. Jem was all hers now, no getting out of it. She sat next to him again and ordered a double Jameson, waiting for him to speak. He didn’t, and when her drink came she took a big sip and turned to him.

“Business all done?” she asked.

He balled his hands into fists on either side of his beer, looking down and breathing deep before he turned to stare her down. His eyes were on fire and she felt the heat shoot right to her center.

“Angie, I’m gonna tell you this once. It ain’t gonna happen – not tonight, not ever again – you got me? Now get your ass up and take your crazy somewhere else. I mean it. I ain’t telling you again.”

She started to feel it then – that familiar tingle at the back of her neck that usually preceded some sort of irrational decision. She felt the anger rising up and there was no stopping it once it started.

“The fuck you think you are telling me off?” she spat. “You think you can just fuck me and walk away like I’m trash? You think you’re better than me? Fuck you, Jem. We’re not done.”

He slammed his fists down on the bar and despite the din of chatter and the music pumping everyone nearby turned to stare.

“Angela,” he said through gritted teeth. Something about the way he used her full name pissed her off even more. “Get the fuck away from me. Don’t make me say it again.”

She flipped a switch then, and her mind jumped into the recesses where she kept her darkest urges hidden. They were bubbling up now, and it was only a matter of time. She kept her voice steady, but her mind was already working out the details.

“Fine, you fuck,” she said. “I’ll go. But gimme your lighter. I need a smoke.”

Jem hesitated but ultimately decided it was a small sacrifice to pay to get her out of his sight. He dug his Zippo out of his pocket and slid it across the bar to her, Irish flag side up.

“I’ll bring it back,” she said, though it was a lie.

“Don’t bother,” he replied. “Consider it a parting gift.”

“We’ll see about that,” she said, and she took down the rest of her whiskey in two huge gulps before walking up the stairs and out of the Tap.

It was hot as hell outside but the basement bar was so humid that the night air felt good on her drug-flushed face. It was invigorating, even, and that was a good thing, because she had plans to set in motion and no time to lose. She called her brother, Pat. Of her four brothers, he was the only one she knew wouldn’t ask questions. Plus, he owed her one.

“I need a kit,” she said. “The full deal. I’m round back of the Tap.”

“The fuck, Ang?” he said.

“Just bring me the shit and shut the fuck up about it,” she said. She was losing patience and time was ticking. “Or do I need to remind you that you owe me a favor?”

“I’ll be there in ten,” he said, and hung up without another word.

Pat was in the family business, like the rest of her brothers, her father before them, and his father before him. They were torchers – mostly cars, with the occasional building thrown in for an insurance scam. Arson was their stock and trade, and even though her father had always been clear with her brothers that she was never to get involved, she knew the business in and out. She remembered clear as day the first time she’d seen them blaze up a car. She wasn’t supposed to have been there but her dad had already gone away and her brothers were sloppy on their own, at least at first. They brought her along for the ride and told her to close her eyes. She didn’t, of course. She peeked between her tiny fingers and watched her brothers douse the van in gasoline before firing up the Zippo and tossing it in. Angie remembered the rush she got watching the lighter fly through the air toward its final destination, the surge of adrenaline as the van erupted into a ball of fire. Even through the closed window she could feel the heat coming off it – or maybe that was just her blood boiling at the sight of it. Either way, from that day on she couldn’t resist the lure of a flame. She started smoking at 12 just to have an excuse to carry a lighter and watch the fire dance at the end of her smoke as she lit it up. Sometimes she’d light a cigarette and not even smoke it, just watch it burn down to the filter, smoke pluming upward as it went. Fire was in her blood, in her bones. Even if she hadn’t been in the car with her brothers that day, she would have found that out eventually.

Pat showed up with the necessary supplies: all the shit for a quick hotwire, two gas cans, some bleach, and a crowbar to smash in the windows. Can’t have the fire burn itself out too quick. No point in that. He loaded the stuff into the trunk of Angie’s car and closed it, looking around for answers he wouldn’t get from her. If he’d seen the Flamer parked just out of view, it would have all made sense, but he didn’t.

“You need help?” Pat asked.

“I got this one,” she replied. Pat was quicker than she was at getting a car started, but if he knew whose car it was, he’d never let her do it. She had to go it alone.

“You better know what the fuck you’re doing, Ang. We can’t take any heat right now.”

“I fuckin’ told you I got this.  Now go home and nuke your supper.”

Pat threw his hands up, resigned to the fact that his little sister was going to do what she was going to do and there wasn’t a goddamn thing he could say to change her mind. She was stubborn as a mule and totally off the rails, but he loved her all the same. She was blood, even if she had caught the crazy off their mother.

“Just be careful,” he said as he got into his car, but he knew that careful wasn’t Angie’s thing. She was reckless as fuck and he could only hope that the family way was strong enough in her to keep her ass out of the can. Pat knew that she was schooled in how to get it done right, but it was the _why_ that nagged at him on his way home. If it was what he suspected it was – _who_ he suspected it was – there was no telling what might happen. He pushed it out of his mind because he had to. He couldn’t get involved in whatever the fuck she was cooking up. He said a silent prayer for her as he pulled into his driveway.

The minute Pat’s car was out of view Angie scrambled into action. She pulled her car around next to Jem’s and parked it there before grabbing the supplies out of her trunk. She paused for a minute to take in the sight of the beat-up blue Trans-Am, tracing her finger over the detailing on the hood and smiling. She would have liked him to fuck her face down on that hood, to press her body into the blue-on-blue flames that detailed the thing. Too late now though. The Flamer was about to earn its name.

She made quick work breaking into the thing and put all the supplies in the back seat. She got out and took a quick look around before grabbing the blood red lipstick out of her purse and scribbling a street name on the driver’s side window of her own car. He’d know what that meant; he’d know just where to go. She got back into the Flamer and slowly but surely got the car started. She was proficient but not quick when it came to boosting a car, but luckily the night was still young at the Tap and nobody was heading out just then. She scanned the parking lot one more time before heading out the back way. Jem’s car wasn’t exactly low key, and she’d be cooked if anyone in front saw her. She knew exactly where she was heading – just a few blocks away, the end of a street full of run-down, abandoned triple-deckers just waiting to be snatched up and renovated by the yuppie fucks streaming into Charlestown like cockroaches. It made her sick to think of it, and that’s the one thing she and Jem had in common, besides a certain level of psychosis and a penchant for causing trouble: they both hated the direction Charlestown was headed and wanted to keep the old way alive at all costs.

When she reached the end of the street she parked dead center and set about her preparations with a near-uncontrollable excitement. She took the gas cans from the back seat and set them next to the car before reaching into the glove compartment and grabbing Jem’s gun. She didn’t know what she was going to do with it, so she just shoved it in her purse and placed it on the ground before grabbing the crowbar. A quick scan of the street told her she was alone; all the houses were dark and abandoned except the one occupied at the far end – squatters, she knew, and they weren’t calling the cops for anything. The only light was provided by the flickering street lamps, but it was enough for her purposes. She took one last lingering look at the Flamer before smashing in the windows one by one. She caught a couple of shards in the arm but nothing too serious. She liked the pain, anyway; she liked the smell of blood.

When the glass was good and fucked she started in with the gas, opening all the doors and coating the flammable interior front to back. She took special care not to get any of it on herself, but she knew what she was doing and she managed to keep it contained in the car without much effort. When it was doused and ready she bleached the cans and the crowbar and chucked them over the chain link fence into the ocean of weeds growing in the abandoned lot beyond. She walked back over and grabbed her purse, taking out Jem’s Glock and shoving it into the waistband of her skirt. She didn’t know why she did it, but something inside her wanted it there, out in the open where he could see that she’d claimed it. It was cold and hard and having it snug against her hot skin made the anticipation of him almost unbearable. She stepped back into the shadows, pulling Jem’s Zippo out of her purse and rolling it over and over in her hand, waiting.

Jem was just about done with the Tap. He’d been trying to get a handle on the next thing but Duggy was in a fucking mood and being difficult. And then there was Angie. He’d blown her straight off but something about her had crawled under his skin and wouldn’t leave. She was like a goddamn rash, that one. He never should have fucked her and he knew it. Don’t dip your dick in crazy – every asshole knows that. But Angie was relentless and shameless and she always had been. She was smart, too, even though she was fucking insane. She saw his defenses were down that night and she went for it. Didn’t hurt that she had a pretty face and a body built for sin, but still. He should’ve known better. Now she was an itch he couldn’t scratch.

He threw a wad of cash across the bar at Splash and made his way out, forgoing goodbyes because he just didn’t give a fuck. He made his way to the lot around back, trying to decide what to do with the rest of his night. He was wired and pissed off and he knew he’d end up either pumping some iron or pumping his dick until he was spent enough to sleep. He dug his keys out of his pocket and looked up as he rounded the corner but the Flamer wasn’t there. He took a quick look around – he wasn’t drunk, not nearly, and he could have sworn that’s where he parked, because that’s where he always parked. That’s when he saw her car, that God-awful puke green monster she drove, and the note she’d left on the window for him, scrawled in that whorish shade of red she always wore to call attention to her lips – not that she needed to: those lips were made for sucking cock and a blind man could see it. It was just a street name but he knew the spot. It was just a few blocks over but it was fucking no-man’s land and he got a nagging feeling he’d better get there fast. He wound up and kicked the rusted siding of her car door before he took off running. He didn’t stop until he saw the Flamer, windows smashed in and glass shattered all around. Then she stepped into the light and he saw it in her hand, the Irish flag facing him.

_She wouldn’t._

Angie flicked her thumb and the Zippo shot to life. She watched the flame dance for a moment and smiled at it. She was in a kind of trance and she didn’t hear Jem yelling his pointless commands for her to stop. She saw him when she looked up, though. He was starting towards her so she let it fly. He stopped dead in his tracks, the both of them watching the lighter sail in slow motion through the air and right through the open window: perfect aim, flawless execution. The car lit up with a hiss and a roar, and for a moment all Jem could do was stare at it, his face empty, hard, and emotionless. Not that Angie would know. She was transfixed by the flames climbing up and out of the windows. The heat coming off the blaze was warming her everywhere, and her insides were on fire, too. Her blood was boiling with the rush of the act, her cunt throbbing as it was sometimes wont to do – Jem’s proximity was only a small part of it; it was the exhilarating danger of the fire that really got her going. She turned to Jem and for the first time his eyes dropped to her waist. He saw his Glock poking out, taunting him.

He swaggered over to her, closing the distance with a few purposeful strides, and then he was on her, malice ripping lines across his brow. He pulled his Glock out of her waistband and he brought it straight across her face – hard enough to leave a mark but not break bone. Angie stayed on her feet and snapped her head back to face him. She looked him deep in his steely blue eyes, the fire’s glow playing at the golden flecks in his irises, and slowly licked the blood from her lower lip. Then she went for it, nonchalant as could be.

 

“Hey, Jem.”

He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook the shit out of her, screaming.

“ _Hey? HEY?_ That’s what you gotta say to me?”

“What do you want me to say?” The heat from the fire was licking at her legs and she couldn’t help it. “I had to get your attention.”

“So you torched my car, you crazy fuckin’ bitch?”

Jem’s voice just kept rising until he couldn’t take it. He grabbed Angie’s throat with one hand and dragged her across the lawn of the last house on the street, rounding the corner and firing her into the rusted chain link fence. It squealed under her weight as she bounced off of it and fell onto her hands and knees on the dirty grass. She looked up at him for a minute, saw his Glock raised for another go, and cackled like a maniac.

“You’re sexy when you’re angry,” she said, then she let her gaze wander over to the car, taking in the flames biting at the air and releasing little sparks all around. She was warm everywhere and she was ready for whatever punishment Jem had to dole out. She got up and brushed herself off.

“Sorry ‘bout all that.”

“The fuck you say, bitch? You’re sorry?” He grabbed her throat again and pushed her hard against the fence, his face burning with rage as he brought his gun up under her chin. “Sorry is what you’re gonna be.”

But Angie wasn’t sorry, not for one bit of it, and she never would be. She looked him in the eyes and a hint of a smile touched her lips before she spat straight in his face.

“Fuck you, _James_.”

Hearing his given name pass her lips made his skin crawl. Jem took his hand from her neck and wiped the spit from his brow slowly, chuckling to no one in particular before he pinned Angie’s arms above her head and moved the gun to her temple.

All it took was the rough skin of his fingers, the bruising pressure they were capable of. To Angie, the vice grip he had on her was such sweet agony. Her panties soaked straight through.

“Now you’re really fucked,” he said, and she just smiled again. “I’m gonna beat that fuckin’ smirk off your face. You think I give a shit you’re a girl? ‘Cause I don’t. You’re fuckin’ nuts and you need a lesson beat into you.”

He tossed his gun aside and grabbed her hair hard, pulling her head all the way back. She arched her back into the motion until her body was pressed tight to his and he was looking straight down into her eyes.

“You’re gonna learn to keep your crazy the fuck away from me,” he said. “And this is me being nice.”

Angie’s eyes rolled back in her head. It was all she wanted. It was all she’d ever wanted for as long as she could remember. Every calculated move, every preparation, every little detail, all of it leading up to this moment:

“Hit me, Jem,” she said, breathy and eager. “Go on, do it.”

Jem considered her a moment, his head cocked to the side a bit. She was crazy, no doubt, but she was hot as fuck and for some reason he couldn’t shove aside, he felt bad wrecking her face. The animal part of him – the one on the verge of taking over – would have loved nothing more than to bash her head in and watch it explode like a fucking watermelon, but he couldn’t do it. He didn’t know if he could put a chick in the ground, especially not one with tits like this one had. By the time Jem struck her the first time, he hadn’t entirely decided whether he was going to kill her, but one look over his shoulder at the burning wreckage and he knew he was damn sure going to tune her up good and proper.

She hit the ground after the first punch and for the next couple blows Jem saw only red, heard only his rage ringing in his ears and the crack and pop of the fire eating his car from the inside. Something made him stop, though. A strange sound coming from the bloodied girl beneath him: a moan, and not the kind that comes with a busted up face. It hit him then – this crazy bitch was enjoying it. She looked up at him and her green eyes went dark. She was smiling, laving at her busted lip. And then she laughed – that horrible, evil fucking laugh of hers. She was like a goddamn witch, using some kind of fucked up black magic to make his dick hard. And it was hard, rock-hard, no denying it. Her tits were bursting out of her shirt and her legs were wide open, her short skirt riding up to reveal the panties that were barely there. There was a heat coming off her, too, and it wasn’t from the car burning bright behind him. The thin fabric of his track pants was doing nothing to hide the bulge there, and she noticed. Of course she fucking noticed.

“You get off on this shit, Jem?” she asked, teasing him. “Come on, then. Hit me again.”

“You’re fuckin’ crazy, you know that?”

She laughed again. That fucking laugh. She had her tits out now and she was playing with them, as if his dick wasn’t hard enough already. He hated himself for it, but he knew he was going to end up giving her what she wanted. He wasn’t done with her yet, though. Not nearly. He grabbed her by the hair and yanked her to her knees, pulling her face against his crotch.

“You feel that, bitch?”

He heard her moan against it, felt her hot tongue licking it through the fabric.

“Well, get ready to fuckin’ choke on it.”

He let go of her hair and reached down to pick up the gun, tucking it into the back of his pants as he dug a rubber out of his wallet and handed it to her. This bitch was bleeding all over the damn place and the fuck knows where she’d been before him. He wasn’t taking any chances. He was already making a mistake. He took his pants down to his thighs and pointed the gun at her head.

“Put it on and open your whore mouth.”

She licked her bloodied lips at the sight of his cock – long, strong, and veiny – before rolling the rubber over the length of it. She’d no sooner gotten to the base when she felt one of his strong hands gripping her hair and pulling her closer. She stuck her tongue out to tease his tip but he jerked her head back and let go. He pulled back the slide on his Glock and she heard the click as he put one in the chamber. He pressed the muzzle to her forehead and smiled down at her.

“Bite me and I’ll fuckin’ kill ya. Now open up.”

He grabbed her hair again and she opened wide, taking the length of his cock down deep into her throat. He held the gun just above her head as he fucked her and if she hadn’t had a face full of dick she would have smiled; she knew he’d assumed she’d have a gag reflex and she could tell it pissed him off to find out otherwise. He wanted to hear her struggle and he was fucking a hole in her head trying to get her there. Tears were streaming down her face from the hold he had on her hair and the cramping in her jaw but she could breath fine through her nose. She knew how to take a dick, and it was frustrating the fuck out of Jem. He was really giving it to her now, and once he realized that throat fucking her was getting him nowhere he pulled her head so close her lips were on his balls. He held her there with his gun hand and brought the other hand to her nose, pinching her nostrils closed with his thumb and his forefinger.

“Try to breathe now, you fuckin’ cunt.”

Now she’d struggle, he knew. She was all kinds of plugged up and when she started to squirm and scratch at his legs he just laughed at her. He wasn’t going to let her suffocate but she didn’t know that, and he let it go on until he felt her throat closing down around his cock and heard her cries muffled by its length. He pulled out of her with a wet pop and she choked down as much air as she could, heaving and coughing in the dirt beneath him. He just stood there with his dick out, watching her. She was a strange bird, this one, and he honestly had no fucking clue what she would do next. He wanted to know, though, so he waited.

She’d caught her breath finally but she wasn’t looking at him. It wasn’t that she was ignoring him exactly – more like she’d just forgotten he was there. She was up on her knees, enraptured by the sight of the burning car, and before Jem knew what was happening she was on her feet, shimmying out of her panties and tossing them over the fence.

“The fuck are you doing?” he asked, because he really didn’t know.

She turned to him. “Isn’t it beautiful?” she asked.

“My fuckin’ car burning next to an abandoned shit shack? No. That’s not the word I’d use.”

“I mean, if it wasn’t your car, would you think it was beautiful?”

“Well, it _is_ my car, and you fuckin’ torched it and I ain’t done with you, so if you wanted to stop and smell the fuckin’ roses, you picked the wrong goddamn time.”

Angie walked towards him slowly, raising her skirt inch by inch until it was pooled at her waist and he could see everything. A little more light on the subject and he would have been able to see her thighs glistening where she’d drenched herself. He could see her hot little clit, though, and if he hadn’t noticed before, he sure as shit did when she brought her hand down and started thrumming it. He didn’t know he’d been holding his breath until he had to let it all go in one hard huff.

“For Christ, Ang.”

“Just fuck me, Jem. You can kill me after, but just fuck me now.”

And he did want to kill her. He wanted to choke the life out of her, because she was a psycho bitch and she torched the Flamer and she was a fucking stain on his life. But most of all, he wanted to kill her because he wanted to fuck her. He wanted to kill her because she’d played this dangerous game with him, and she fucking won. He had to laugh, and it was longer and louder than he’d expected it to be. He laughed because, in some fucked up way, he was impressed. She was twisted as shit and belonged locked up in chains in a padded room somewhere, but she’d gone up against him alone, and she’d beaten him. Not many could say that – certainly nobody who was still sucking air – but she could. Fuckin’ Angie, man. Fuck.

By the time he’d gotten himself together she was on him, stroking his near-painfully hard cock against her clit. Even through the rubber he could feel how hot and wet she was. She was tight, too, he remembered. He’d been pleasantly surprised. Must do those cunt muscle exercises or whatever the fuck. Thinking about the way her pussy felt made him angry, because he didn’t want to want her. His dick was having none of it, though, and when she spread her legs and rubbed his tip across her lips he lost whatever control he had left.

“You wanna get fucked for real this time?” he growled. “I’ll break you in half.”

“Fuckin’ do it,” she cried. And she was begging for it, with every cell in her body she was begging. “You can fuck me to death. I don’t care. Just do it.”

Jem backed her up against the fence and dug his cock into her stomach. She reached above her head and grabbed on to the rusted fence, and when he brought his lips to her ear she shuddered at the feel of his stubble scratching her cheek.

“Hop on and enjoy the ride, bitch, because I’m gonna put a bullet in your head when I’m done with you.”

Angie just looked at him and smiled before she jumped up into his waiting arms. She hung on to the fence and wrapped her legs tight around him and he positioned her just right. One hard snap of his hips and he was balls deep inside her. She made some kind of fucked up animal sound and he knew he’d made it hurt, but she liked it – it was all over her face and in the way she way grinding her hips against him. He wasn’t playing nice, though. He didn’t care if she liked it or not. He was going to tear her pussy up and no exercise in the world would put that shit right again.

He used his dick on her like it was a fucking samurai sword, pretending each vicious thrust was a new, deep gash in her flesh, and that her pussy juice was hot, viscous blood flowing from the wounds. He couldn’t kill her; he knew that now. But he could pretend, and he could put the fear of God in her while he did it. She was clinging to him like a goddamn monkey, writhing around under him as he pounded her without mercy. She was clutching and shaking the fence so hard he thought she would rip it down, and he could see her hands were cut and bloodied from the rusted metal. Maybe he would remind her to get a shot for that, maybe he wouldn’t. Right now all he could think about was the vice grip she had on his dick and the look in her eyes as she stared off over his shoulder at the fire. The light from the flames was flickering across her face, and mostly he couldn’t see the damage he’d done to her. He was thankful for that; it made it easier to fuck her within an inch of her life. In full light, the mess he’d made would have repulsed him, regardless of how good the rest of her body felt. And she did feel good, better than good, even though he knew he was riding the crazy train. Didn’t matter, though. She may have won her little game, but he was in charge now. He fucked her with a fury he didn’t know he had and her cries became more and more insistent. He knew she was close to coming, and part of him wanted to be a sadistic fuck, pull out, make her wait and beg for it and then just cream all over her face. But he remembered the way her pussy felt when she came on his dick the last time, so he let her get there – not for her pleasure, but for his.

“You gonna come on this dick?” he growled. “You gonna come one last time before I fuckin’ kill you, you psycho bitch?”

She threw her head back and cried out to the night sky: “Fuck, yes. Fuck me harder, Jem.”

“What if I stopped right now?” he said. He wanted her to beg for it. “What if I left you all hot and bothered and put a bullet in your head?”

She looked at him, and he was fucking her right through his inquisition, and her eyes went all glassed over and loony looking. It gave him pause and he almost stopped but then she spoke.

“Choke me out, then,” she whispered. “Choke me and let me come and then just keep squeezing.”

“You’re ten kinds of crazy, bitch,” he said, and he kept his hands placed firmly on her hips as he railed her. But now it was all he could think about. She didn’t need his hands to hold her up – she had herself covered between the mean grip of her legs and the fence she clung to. It would be so simple, really. She was a little thing. He could snap her neck like a fucking twig if he wanted. But he didn’t want to, not really, not anymore.

“You really want me to choke you?” he asked, and he couldn’t believe he was asking the bitch who torched his car how she wanted to get off but he was.

“Yes,” she said. “Please. Do it. I’ll come so hard and then you can be done with me.”

And she would have died happy with his strong hands wrapped around her neck and his cock jammed up inside her. She knew he wasn’t going to kill her by now. He would have done it already. He could have done it already, many times over, but he hadn’t. And he was looking at her in a way that told her that she was fucking him the way he liked to be fucked – letting him take control, making him feel like he was king of the fucking world. And, to Angie, he was the king: the King of Charlestown. Other punks could run around all they wanted, pretending their dicks swung lower than his, but everyone knew Jem was the man. Besides the Florist, who nobody was trying to fuck with, Jem was the guy to be scared of – the type of guy who would put you in the ground if you looked at him funny. And here she was, watching his car burn by her own hand, and getting fucked for her trouble. She couldn’t help but laugh.

“The fuck you laughin’ at?” he snapped. “You think I won’t do it?”

And then just like that his massive hands were wrapped around her neck and squeezing. She was so close to coming already but between the rage lining his face, the fire dancing in the distance, and the lack of oxygen she shot off like a fucking rocket. Her cunt clamped down hard on his dick and she bucked so hard his hands lost their grip on her throat, and the rush of air that hit her lungs set her off twice as hard. She screamed like she was dying, and she thought in the back of her climax-addled mind that maybe she was, but she didn’t give a fuck because she couldn’t stop coming for what felt like a year and he fucked her so hard and thoroughly that she was essentially dead by the time it was over. Her body was jelly and she couldn’t hold herself up any longer and he knew it, so he pulled out and tossed her in a heap on the ground.

“Hope you enjoyed that,” he said, ripping off the rubber. “‘Cause this is gonna hurt.”

She thought for a moment he might bareback her ass, and if she was honest she would have let him, but that’s not what he had in mind.

“Sit up and look at me,” he said, and he started jerking his cock. He slapped her face with it a few times in between strokes and she smiled and opened her mouth.

“You gonna take my load?”

She nodded and stuck her tongue out as far as it could go. She wanted to taste him so badly she could have cried.

“Get ready for it,” he said, and she watched the veins in his arms raging as he pumped himself to climax. She would have liked to do it for him but she stayed put, on her knees with her hands behind her back and her mouth wide open and ready for him. “Open your eyes, bitch. Keep ‘em open.”

She moved her gaze between his face and his cock; she couldn’t decide which one looked angrier. They were both beautiful, though, and that’s what she was thinking about when his free hand grabbed her face and held her right eye open while the other one jerked off straight into it. The first blast was strong and it stung like a motherfucker but the next few spurts striped her face instead. She smiled even though her eye was on fire. She would have liked to see his face when he came, but she could only imagine the evil grin he must have worn while he blew straight into her eyeball. He gave her a solid _fuck you_ at the end there, and she respected him for it. He’d certainly earned it, and she found it almost artistic in its execution. She squeezed her eye closed as tight as she could, and she laughed because she knew she was crying cum and it was the funniest thing she’d ever imagined. Only she wasn’t imagining it; it was happening, and she reached up to wipe her milk white tears away. She couldn’t see out of her right eye but her left was working just fine so she used it to stare him down while she sucked his juices off her fingers. She could taste his strong flavor even through the dirt and the blood and the rust and she moaned onto her fingers. She must have been a sight, one eye squeezed shut tight and the other bugging out because he couldn’t stop laughing at her. She didn’t care though. She was happy.

Funny she should be happy at a time like that, but she was. If what he’d said was true, he was just moments away from killing her. Her face was bruised and something likely broken, her hands were cut to shit, her knees scraped – she looked like she’d gone to war, and in some senses she had. She’d won a few of the battles but in the end Jem held all the cards. He got himself together and grabbed his Glock off the grass, coming back over to kneel in front of her, his forehead pressed to hers.

“Any last words, Ang?” he said, his face locked in a vicious grin.

“Marry me,” she said, and she meant it.

He roared with laughter and stood up in front of her. He pointed the gun at her head and moved his finger from the trigger guard to the real deal. One flick of his thick finger and it was lights out. She heard the deafening crack of the gun and saw the muzzle flash and she closed her eyes but she felt nothing but splintered wood from where the bullet entered the side of the house a foot to her right. She opened her eyes and he was smiling down at her – that shit-eating Jem grin she loved so very, very much. He leaned down and pressed a dirty finger to her forehead.

“Fuck with me again, Ang, and it’s goin’ right here.”

Jem patted her cheek twice in quick succession and took off running in the direction of the Tap. She lay there for a moment but she knew it was long past time to get the fuck out of there. If she got caught on the scene it meant trouble for her whole family; she could take a pinch no problem, but they would try to take her brothers down with her. She couldn’t have that. She pulled her top up over her tits and her skirt down. Her panties were long since given over to the weeds and she’d never lost her shoes. She took off in the opposite direction of Jem, even though it meant walking home instead of picking up her car. She wasn’t about to go to the Tap right now – not after what happened, not in the state she was in. She knew Jem wouldn’t say a word about what really happened to the Flamer. He’d say it was some punk fucking with him, and he’d probably tune up some random kid for good measure – just to make a good show of it. She would say she’d been assaulted but managed to get away. She’d get patched up in the morning and go about her business like this whole mess never happened.

Except it had happened, and she would never forget it, and even though he almost put a bullet in her brain a few times over that night and threatened to do it for real, she knew she wouldn’t be able to quit him. Not now, not ever. She walked past the row of decaying tinderbox houses, not unlike Jem’s own house on Pearl Street, thinking about how the whole block would light up like a fucking powder keg with the smallest of sparks. She smiled. He was like fire to her: powerful, beautiful, deathly dangerous, and easy to set off. She would happily watch the world burn just to have him again. 


End file.
